


Pajamas

by blessedthrice



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Fluff, Jean - Freeform, M/M, Romance, jean kirstein - Freeform, jean x marco - Freeform, jeanmarco, marco bott - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessedthrice/pseuds/blessedthrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco won’t ever say it out loud, because he doesn’t think Jean would understand. He isn’t really sure how he would explain it anyway, because it’s not exactly the sort of thing you can articulate with words. It’s just a certain way, a certain mood that takes hold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pajamas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guttersharkk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guttersharkk/gifts).



> a little fluff drabble for the jean x marco crowd. based on a convo i had with guttersharkk about which of the SNK boys look best when they wake up.

Marco won’t ever say it out loud, because he doesn’t think Jean would understand. He isn’t really sure how he would explain it anyway, because it’s not exactly the sort of thing you can articulate with words. It’s just a certain way, a certain mood that takes hold, and when it does the radio comes in clearer, and the coffee is a little richer. The light from the window shines a little brighter. Even the flowers in their windowbox seem more full of color, more vibrant. He swears the waft of bacon from the breakfast pan smells sweeter, that his mouth waters as if he’s never eaten a meal before.

This peculiar mood, which has taken hold of him every morning since the first one they shared in their apartment together, has a rather peculiar catalyst, he thinks, which is why he’s hesitant to mention it to Jean. It’s the mood that takes hold the moment he sees the other man in his pajamas.

They aren’t just any old pajamas, of course. No, no. They’re Jean’s pajamas. Thick cotton and soft gray, a tri-blend material that holds him loosely at the hips with a simple white cord. They taper at the ankles, are baggy in the legs. They sit just right on him, hinting at toned thighs and long legs and strong ankles. If Marco’s being honest with himself–which he really tries to be–they suggest something else, too. But that isn’t exactly what puts the mood on him–although it doesn’t hurt.

Jean wears a white cotton tee-shirt to bed. He has about 15 of them, Marco knows. He does the wash, after all, and since Jean is never around when he puts those soft white shirts back into the other man’s drawer, Marco sometimes presses his nose into the fabric and just breathes. It’s a guilty pleasure, and he’s sure if Jean ever caught him he’d just die from the embarrassment. But Jean won’t catch him, because Jean doesn’t do laundry, just like Jean doesn’t do dishes, because Jean has a big boy job at an office and Marco is a “freelance editor” which is a fancy way of saying he works from home and not for anyone in particular.

That was why he started making breakfast, really, because of Jean’s job. Jean had got the job working at Titan Technologies a year ago, the month before they signed the lease on their first place. It was a big deal, working at Titan. Jean made a salary and had benefits. Marco smoked menthol cigarettes out their open window and edited things like restaurant reviews and travel brochures. It was easy to see where he was needed in the relationship. So every morning, at 7 am, Marco would pull himself out of bed, slip on his house shoes, and shuffle into the kitchen to make breakfast. He could still remember that first time Jean had come strolling into the kitchen, his hair a mess, and his pajamas wrinkled from sleep. He’d nearly dropped the plate he’d been holding.

He thinks it is maybe a little obsessive and weird, how much he likes to see Jean in pajamas. He can’t help it. To see Jean so at ease in their apartment, in their relationship, in their life together is almost too much for him. It’s something he’s always wanted, and it often feels too good to be true. Sometimes he has to remind himself that he’s awake, that it’s not a dream he’s having, but an actual reality that the boy he loves, loves him back. That the boy he wants to kiss wants to kiss him, too. That the trust he feels is reciprocated tenfold. It’s in every wrinkle, every fuzz of lint from their bed spread. It’s in the way Jean’s hair gets pressed to one side of his head where he slept on it, the way his eyes aren’t all the way open because he hasn’t had his cup of coffee yet.

Marco won’t ever say it out loud, because he doesn’t think Jean would understand. But he shows it the best way that he can.

He hums as he puts Jean’s breakfast on a white plate. The coffee is steaming in his favorite mug. There is soft indie rock playing somewhere in the living room.

“Smells good in here,” comes mumbled from between half-sleeping lips.

Marco swears that it’s the best poached egg he’s ever tasted in his whole life.


End file.
